


Peaches and Other Summer Fruits

by CalliLake



Category: Captain Marvel (2019)
Genre: F/F, I can make it into a series if anyone wants more, Lesbian Carol Danvers, One Night Stand, Oral Sex, Reader-Insert, Reader-Interactive, or really it's a maybe just one afternoon stand with a side of feelings, so you can decide if it's a one afternoon stand or not
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-10
Updated: 2020-01-10
Packaged: 2021-02-27 05:13:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22191619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CalliLake/pseuds/CalliLake
Summary: Your regular weekend trip to the countryside turns into something more.
Relationships: Carol Danvers/Reader
Comments: 22
Kudos: 128





	Peaches and Other Summer Fruits

The heavy, lazy heat of midsummer presses down onto the small town streets, hanging across the treetops, sliding into open windows, the honey-gold sunlight pouring onto every surface. You tilt your head up as you walk, taking it in, the warmth caressing your face. God, it feels good to get away from the big city - even just for a weekend.

In a small city, the summer farmers market is the hottest place to be every weekend. The park in the middle of the little town is full of vendors, the air alive with the bright sounds of laughter and footsteps, the smells of wood smoke and frying bread, and as you hesitate under a tree, looking for your favorite fruit stand, you feel the humidity caressing your face and settling in your hair. Now: where are those peaches? You narrow your eyes, scanning the crowd for the familiar, green-fabric top of the stand. Oh, there it is. Perfect. You tighten your hands around the handle of your canvas bag and begin walking through the crowds of people, smelling perfume and dust, pausing for just a moment to scan a booth that’s selling potted plants - maybe you’ll come back to those in a bit. Your short sundress brushes against your thighs as you walk, soft fabric skimming over your skin. 

“Peach, Please,” the small wooden sign reads in full, loopy cursive. It’s resting on a folding table, next to piles upon piles of plums, peaches, and berries. The woman behind the table smiles at you and you smile back, then immediately engross yourself in studying the fruits. The plums are deep, rich purple, soft to the touch, gently bruised in places, pale fruit peeking through. Soft, sunny peaches, orange and yellow and elegantly curved, draw your curious hands, and you touch one lightly, feeling the velvet under your fingertip.

“It’s a hot one, isn’t it?”

You glance to your left, looking to see where the voice came from. Your jaw falls open slightly.

“Hi, Carol,” the woman behind the table says warmly. “Yeah, it’s hot, I’m glad I’m in the shade. Have you come to buy me out of strawberries again?”

“I’m feeling like peaches today,” the woman - Carol - says, and she looks in your direction. She looks at you, your hand still outstretched, touching a peach with one finger. She knows you were staring - you pulled your gaze up from her muscular arms to meet her eyes, but not fast enough to avoid being caught. You pull your arm back, embarrassed, and close your mouth, hearing your teeth click together. 

Smoothly, she pushes her aviators up onto the top of her head - her eyes are brown, a rich, soft brown, intensified by an intelligent gaze. “Did you already find the best one? I’ll fight you for it.” She grins, a quick flash of a white smile. 

Is she talking to you? This woman in a tight, black tank top, with such defined shoulders and biceps that you wouldn’t have to touch them to know they were solid and strong, with honey-blonde hair that looked as soft as silk, a jaw that looked strong enough to - to - is she talking to you? “Um,” you say, articulately, “No, they’re all perfect, just like always.”

Her eyes flick down your body and back up so fast that if you hadn’t been staring at her face with perfect concentration, you’d have missed it. “I’d expect nothing less. I’m Carol.” She holds out her hand.

You take it nervously, shake it, introduce yourself. You feel the lightest brush of calluses against your skin - those are strong, worked hands. “I guess you’re a regular here?”

“That’s right.” She begins picking up peaches, placing them in a canvas bag of her own. “I’ve never seen you around here, though.”

“I’m from up north. I don’t get down here as much as I’d like to.”

“A city slicker, huh?” She grins again. “Just here for the peaches?”

“And some peace. Some time away from the traffic, my job, all that. But mostly the peaches.”

She gives you a long look. “How many?”

“Peaches? I don’t know, seven or eight. I go through them fast when I visit down here.” You tilt your head curiously.

She looks in her bag. “Perfect. I have enough for both of us here.” She looks up, and you notice an instant of nervousness in her eyes. “If you want, that is. Sit with me for a bit. Share a few of these, tell me about the city. If not, I’d still like to buy them for you, call it small-town hospitality. Either way.”

You feel a bright blush making its way up your neck to your cheeks. “I’d love that.”

The park is sprawling, rambling, dotted with trees tall enough to provide shade, and picnic tables tucked neatly under them. You walk at Carol’s side, over the cropped grass and clover. You think about tucking your hand into the crook of her arm, clinging to her forearm or to her bicep, feeling her skin, feeling her. She gestures to an empty table. 

“I’d pull your chair out if I could.”

You giggle and sit down. She sits on the same side of the table as you, turned towards you, one foot on the ground and the other tucked up in her lap - how is she not a thousand degrees in those jeans? Who cares, you think, they look sexy on her. 

“So,” she says, reaching into her bag and pulling out a peach with one hand and a pocket knife with the other, “tell me about city life. Why do you need to get away?”

“I’ve had the same boring job since I graduated college,” you say, watching her begin cutting into a peach. Your eyes slide across her freckled forearms - they look strong. They look like they could do a lot of work before giving out. You feel a warmth spreading from your stomach and moving down, down, down. “My coworkers just care about money and advancement, you know? I used to too, but… and everyone goes out binge drinking every weekend and I’m just tired of it. I’m tired of loud bars and friends who are really only your friends because there’s no one else to talk to at work. What’s the point? And there’s no one I want to date, either,” you add, deciding it doesn’t matter what she knows, she’s a stranger, and the worst thing that happens is you embarrass yourself and then never see her again. “I feel like no one takes anything seriously and I just don’t want to keep getting played.”

She looks up at you. “You’re too pretty to get played.”

“I…” you blush, glancing away from her intense stare. “Thanks. What about you?”

“Me?” She chuckles. “Hmm. I had a very stressful job for a while. So I retired, came here. I keep to myself, mostly, felt like it was better that way, but I…” she looks up at you, dark eyes drinking in the sunlight. “It gets lonely sometimes. I lived a ways outside of town for a while, but I moved into one of the neighborhoods not too far from here just so I could leave the windows open and just listen to people go by. It’s soothing, somehow. Just to remember other people exist.”

“I know what you mean,” you reply quietly. “About being lonely.” 

You look down at her hands, see her finishing cutting a slice of peach into four smaller pieces. The orange-gold fruit shimmers in the light. “Here,” she says, her voice just slightly deeper and softer than normal. “Can I…”

You look back at her, and down at her fingers - with their short, buffed nails - where she’s holding one of the bite-sized pieces of peach.

“Do you want it?” 

You lean forward, skimming your fingers over her forearm, and take the peach in your mouth, your lips brushing her fingers. You think you feel her shiver. As you swallow the peach, she tries to take her hand away. “Wait,” you murmur, your eyes darting up to hers. She hesitates, looking at you curiously. Your heart pounding, you lick the tip of her pointer finger, and encouraged by her small, involuntary sound of appreciation, you give her whole thumb a longer, slower lick. “Wouldn’t want the juice to run,” you say, looking into her dark eyes. 

She moves closer to you, one hand on your knee, the other finding your waist, and you feel a bright, hot burn in your body, even hotter than the humid, heavy summer day, a burn that makes you press your thighs together as she moves her face closer to yours, not looking away from your eyes, inviting you to kiss her. You close the distance between you quickly, not wanting to seem desperate but not being able to hide it, kissing her hungrily. Her mouth falls open against yours, you hear a noise of desire tear itself from her throat, you feel her hand sliding up your thigh and gripping the hem of your sundress, the tip of her tongue just brushing yours - 

She pulls away quickly and you whine. The sound makes her grab your dress tighter. 

“There’s people here,” she whispers. “Come home with me.”

“Please,” you say, not even bothering to be embarrassed by the desperation in your voice. It’s much too late to be worrying about that.

She leans in again and kisses you, right on the spot where your jaw meets your neck. You gasp sharply, the smoothness of her lips electric on your skin. You feel her mouth move up, brushing your earlobe. “You’re so gorgeous,” she murmurs. “Irresistible.”

You feel the same way about her, but can only respond by tightening your grip on her forearms. 

“Let’s go,” she says, and you let her pull you up and lead you away from the crowd. Your fingers trail down her forearm, and you take her hand, calloused and freckled, in yours. “It’s just a quick walk,” she says. “I hope that’s okay.”

“It’s great,” you say, the burning impatience in your body making you want to pounce on her right there.

It must have snuck through into your voice, because she laughs. “Really, it’s not far.”

She’s right. You ask casual questions as you walk, admiring the vibrant pink and purple flowers that line the streets - how long as she lived here? What does she like about this place? What was her stressful job? - and she answers them readily, except the ones about her old line of work. You decide to drop it. You have to save some questions for the second date - assuming, of course, that this was a date, and that there would be a second one.

“Here,” she says after what feels like hours, but is really only something like fifteen minutes. “This is it.”

You slide your hand up her arm, and run your fingertips over her tricep. “It’s cute.”

She looks at you thoughtfully. “Yeah, cute. Come on.”

She leads you up the gravel drive and up the porch stairs, surrounded by flowers that smell thick and sweet and heavy, like sun and summer, and through the front door. You want to say something about the house, something nice, something about the warm smell like expensive cologne or the paintings on the walls or the dark wood shelves, but words escape you as you turn to her, your eyes tracing her neck, her strong jaw, her lips. You look into her brown eyes and see a hunger there that matches yours. You reach for each other in sync and as you press against her body she falls back against the wall with a thump, her hands tangling in your skirt and roughly pulling your hips against hers, your mouths finding each other in a desperate kiss. Your mouth falls open against hers, accepting her tongue - she still tastes like peaches. She growls into your mouth as her tongue strokes yours, and the low-pitched sound makes your knees go weak. 

Soft, breathy noises escape you as she kisses you deeper and deeper, her tongue flicking in and out of your mouth, running over the back of your teeth. You begin catching it in your lips as she presses it into your mouth, and you’re rewarded with a deep moan as you suck her tongue, whining, sliding your hands under her shirt. You feel the heat of her skin, her abs- 

“Fuck,” you whisper into her mouth.

She nips at your lip. “Same to you.” Letting go of your skirt, she slides her hands onto the backs of your bare thighs. You know you’re already wet, you can feel the white-hot desperation under your thong, your throbbing clit, desperate for her hands - or her mouth. “Here,” she murmurs, and begins pushing you back - you take two nervous steps backward, and then feel the backs of your legs bump the arm of the couch.

You let yourself fall back, guided by her strong hands, and she climbs over the arm on top of you, one of her hands sliding behind the back of your head into your hair, the other under your thigh, her fingers digging into you. Your back arches and her mouth finds your neck, licking up and down, and you gasp as she bites your collarbone - gently, but her teeth on you feel so electric. You feel her begin to suck on the place where your shoulder meets your neck, and a bright, delicious pain begins to spread from that spot, the feeling of a claiming bruise being formed. Your eyes squeeze shut, your mouth open, tangling your hands in her honey-colored hair. A dark purple bruise from this woman would be the most perfect thing you could imagine.

The soft, suede-like texture of the couch feels perfect under your thighs as you press them together, Carol straddling you, her hand in you hair. You can feel her slowly making her hand into a fist, holding your hair firmly, pulling it just a little.

“Do you like that?” she asks, her grip getting tighter. 

“Yes,” you say, your voice high pitched. You can hear how much you want her.

So can she. She begins kissing and licking your neck again, her soft, wet mouth finding all the most sensitive spots, navigating you carefully, chasing your loudest, most desperate sounds. You give yourself over to the pleasure of her kisses, just letting the noises tear out of your body, free of inhibition. She leans forward onto her hands, and as she planks over you, you get a good look at her shoulders and biceps. You feel your mouth water, and you run your hands up and down the muscles of her back underneath her shirt.

Slowly, she lowers herself onto you, her mouth finding yours, and one of her knees plants between your legs. Your skirt begins riding up, and you feel her rock forward, her muscular thigh pressing firmly against your pussy. You gasp, your back arching, your nails digging into her back, hot pleasure surging up your body, your toes curling as you begin grinding hard against her. The sound she makes is almost a purr.

She lays on top of you, kissing you slowly and passionately, and you begin to feel the slightest movement of her hips, the roughness of her jeans against your thigh. You slide your hands down as you kiss her, grabbing her ass, and pulling her hips down against you, encouraging her to grind on you through her jeans. You can feel the heat of her pussy through the denim, and as she grinds on you more eagerly, kissing you harder and harder, you begin to think hungrily of unzipping her jeans and tasting what’s inside. 

But that fantasy quickly takes a backseat as your kisses become more and more frantic, grinding against each other, hands everywhere, licking her jaw and ear, sucking her earlobe, grabbing at each other, trying to get closer.

She sits up suddenly, looking down at you, panting. “We’re still wearing shoes.”

You realize she’s right and burst into giggles. 

“Let’s fix that,” she says, climbing off of you and beginning to take her shoes off. “And… go to the bedroom? If you’d like?”

“I’d like that very much,” you say, kicking off your sandals. 

“Good,” she says, her voice gentle. 

The window is open in her bedroom, the curtains pulled aside to reveal a sunny backyard, the summer heat and the smells of the flowers pouring in. Sunlight dapples the bed, with its soft white covers, and as you walk barefoot on the warm hardwood floors, you feel Carol reach out a hand to touch your dress. “May I?” 

You nod, and slowly, kissing your neck and shoulders as she does, she takes your dress off, sliding it down to reveal your bralette and thong. 

“Did I say fucking gorgeous already?” she asked. “Because you’re fucking gorgeous.”

“Oh, please,” you say, feeling a bright blush spring up on your cheeks. You reach out, grabbing her belt, pulling her close. “May I?”

She smiles, and you take her jeans off, your hands shaking as the metallic sound of the zipper echoes around the room. You pull her black tank top off over her head, and as she shakes out her dark gold hair, you get a good look at her, in a sports bra and boxers, muscular and scarred. It’s hot. She’s ridiculously hot. 

You realize you’re staring, open mouthed. So does she.

“That’s the second time I’ve seen that expression on your face,” she says, grinning at you.

“Oh?”

“Mhmm.” She takes a step closer, a cocky expression flashing in her dark eyes. “You wanted to get fucked by me the second you saw me, didn’t you?”

“And what if I did?”

She takes another step in, drawing you close, her mouth brushing your ear. “I would be pleased, because the second I saw you, I wanted to fuck you.”

You tumble into bed together, and she makes short work of getting you on your back, licking down your neck to your chest. She begins to lick you through your bralette. At first, the feeling is just of fabric rubbing your nipple, a light feeling that makes you whine for more, and then, as her saliva soaks through, she gives you a short, sharp bite that makes you yelp with pleasure. She crawls back up to you, kissing you, laying beside you, one hand massaging your breast, her thumb rubbing over the wet spot she’d made. You squirm under her touch, whining. 

Her hand slides down you, settling against your pussy. “You’re burning hot,” she whispers, but you can’t respond, rendered wordless at the feeling of her hand resting over your panties, the weight teasing your clit, but not rubbing, not pressing down, just teasing you. Instead of speaking, you reach for her, your hand between her legs, and she’s hot too, fiery hot, and the small sound she makes encourages you to rub her, pleasing her clit through her boxers, and she returns the favor, her fingers moving rapidly. Her tongue plunges into your mouth as you touch each other’s pussies frantically, moaning into her mouth as she finds the perfect place to rub you, and when she slips her hand under the fabric to touch your clit you roll onto your side, grinding on her hand, pressing against her. Her fingers slide down you, finding your wet center - she moans against your tongue, you think she might have said “fuck” but you can’t be sure - and as her fingers press into you, you feel your legs trembling.

Her forearms are as strong as you’d hoped. She starts with one finger, sliding deep into you, and when you whimper and spread your legs wider, she adds a second, fingering you as she kisses your mouth, your jaw, your neck, your shoulders, while you gasp and moan with pleasure. You can feel how wet you are, how horny and desperate, your thighs are already dripping, and as her fingers fill you, you feel heat building in the center of your stomach, your thighs tensing, higher and higher sounds tearing from your throat as you arch your back, whining, and she thrusts her fingers into you faster and starts talking to you in that deep honey voice, her lips moving against your neck - “You’re so hot for me, I want you so fucking bad-” and then quickly she sits up, and as she fingers you, begins rubbing your clit with her other hand. 

You orgasm wrapped around her fingers, pleasure rushing through your body, feeling your heartbeat in your ears. She looks down at you, glowing. 

“I want to do that again,” she says. 

You mumble something inarticulate but affirmative. 

“Do you need a rest?”

You shake your head.

“Alright,” she says, that cocky grin back in full force. Handling you gently, she reaches under you to unclip your bralette and pulls it off of you, letting out a small sound at your exposed breasts. Then she moves down to your panties, taking them off slowly. “We made a mess of these,” she says, her voice a smug purr. She takes off her own sports bra and boxers with much less ceremony, and you can only watch in awe as you see her body, naked and strong before you, freckled, muscular, with the most perfect ass you have ever seen. 

“Wow,” you say. 

She smiles. “It’s only fair. I get to see you.” She crawls onto the bed between your legs. “May I?”

Not completely positive what she wants, you ask, “May you what?”

“Eat your pussy,” she says, her eyes flashing with desire.

“Yes. Please.”

She lowers herself to you hungrily, slipping her hands under your thighs and grasping your hips. Slowly, softly, she begins licking up and down your inner thigh, kissing, sucking gently - not enough to leave marks, just a little. Easing you into it. She waits for your energy to come back as she laps at your thighs, and as your sounds getting louder, reinvigorated, she bites at your thighs and licks closer and closer to your pussy. She barely lets her tongue run over your outer labia, but when you make a sound, she goes back to kissing your thigh. She does that three times before you catch her glancing up at you, a playful glint in her brown eyes. 

“Tease,” you gasp.

“Show me if you want it so bad,” she says.

You slide your hands into her hair and pull her mouth to your clit. She moans as you cling to her hair, pressing her face against you, and as her hot tongue slides over you, you thrust up against her mouth. Her moans grow louder as your hips pitch up against her, and as you loosen your grip on her hair you feel a shift in her energy. She devours you, mouth wide open, tongue soft and sweeping up and down your wetness, over your clit, plunging into you, fully fucking you with her mouth as you gasp and writhe, completely lost in pleasure. You feel her grip on you, her calloused hands, holding your hips still enough for her to have her way with you even as you squirm beneath her. She moans and growls as she licks up and down you, and you shudder at each sound, knowing how much this is pleasing her, how much she loves to taste you. 

She starts to focus her attention on your clit, licking and sucking gently, then faster and faster, and as you gasp she pulls a hand out from under you and drives her fingers into your center just as she begins to suck your clit harder, and you feel how close you are, the sounds you’re making approaching screams, your toes curling, your thighs clamped tightly around her, hands tangled in her hair. She flicks her tongue back and forth rapidly over your clit, fingering you quickly and deeply, and as you feel the reverberation from her moans on you you’re pushed over the edge, crying out as you climax, pushing her head away from your clit as the stimulation becomes too much. You lay there, whimpering and shaking, sweating and panting, and she begins to crawl slowly up your body, looking up into your eyes. 

“Can I-”

“Anything,” you say, your voice breathy with exertion. “Anything you want.”

A scream tears itself from you as she pounces on you, grabbing at your hair, grinding frantically on you, her thigh colliding with your hot, soaking pussy, sending a jolt of pain and pleasure up your body. “I need you,” she murmurs in your ear, “I need your body, you’re so fucking hot, I have to have you-”

You can feel her dripping down your thigh, and you reach one hand around her leg and begin playing with her, dipping your fingertips into her, stroking her lips as she rubs her clit hungrily against you. She buries her face in your hair and you nip and lick at her ear as you press your fingers deeper into her, and you shut your eyes as she climaxes, feeling her shake above you, her walls tightening around your fingers.

She collapses beside you, panting, flushed, several strands of hair sticking to her forehead. “Mm,” she says, reaching out for you and pulling you close to her. You snuggle against her, hearing her heartbeat, her breath, and through your half-open eyes, you take in the way the sunlight decorates her skin. 

The room is heavy with humidity and heat, and as you curl against her you become more aware of the sounds from outside - you can hear birds chirping, the faintest rustle of the smooth summer breeze through the verdant plant life. You sit up slowly and look out the window at the golden midafternoon. 

“What are you thinking about?”

You look down at her. The sunlight glimmers in her eyes, reminding you of cozy things, embers flickering in fireplaces, honey poured into a teacup, warm chocolate chips. “How nice it is to see green out the window.”

“You don’t miss the city streets?”

“If I did, I wouldn’t visit here.” You stretch lazily. “Fuck, Carol. You know sex isn’t supposed to be good right away, right?”

She laughs. “That just means it’ll get better - um, you know, if you want to do it more.” Her cockiness is gone, and she looks at you curiously.

“You mean right now or just in general?” 

She rolls her eyes playfully. “Both, after I get us some water, but I meant in general.”

“I would like both.”

She pushes herself up and disappears to the kitchen, leaving you to continue looking dreamily out the window. Maybe your job in the city isn’t so important, after all.

**Author's Note:**

> I couldn't stop thinking about how Carol Danvers is farmers market hot, and so I felt like I had to write a short and sexy oneshot about it. 
> 
> I want to write more erotic fics, so if you have a pairing you'd like to see, or any thoughts/suggestions for me, leave a comment here or send me an ask at femmme.tumblr.com.
> 
> Thank you so much for reading, and have a sexy day.


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